Hemphill, TX: Family Reunions & Road Trips

Long makeshift travel diary entries from small town Texas

December 9, 2023 / 10:03pm / Hemphill, Texas

I’ve been having difficulty thinking of a term to describe myself. A word that can encompass all that I want to do and have done. Perhaps the word is documenter. Not a content creator or writer. Though, I often see myself as more of a writer than anything because of my strong desire to put words to experiences or emotions, calling myself one seems too official. And though writing is the one thing I see myself doing for the rest of my life (unlike my other interest and professions in which I only imagine myself doing them in fragments; on and off for a few years, then moving on), I’m not yet ready to be a writer.

My mother and I woke up today at around 9am to start a road trip to St Augustine (which my family refers to as San Augustine), Texas. We were having a Christmas family reunion at a small restaurant in town. The night before, we shoved an outfit, underwear, bed clothes, toothbrushes, bonnets, and toothpaste into the same suitcase.

Before picking up my aunt and two cousins, we stopped by the library. I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a few hours and browsed around the library, picking up whatever I find interesting. My recent habit of putting books on hold and picking them up from the circulation desk has been a fatal flaw of mine. Nevertheless, today’s pickup consisted of a few books I wanted to read this winter: Winter in Sokcho by Elisa Dusapin, All Rhodes Lead Here by Mariana Zapata, and Emily Wilde’s Encyclopedia of Fairies by Heather Fawcett.

I immediately started All Rhodes Lead Here after my aunt and cousins were in the car. However, I only read about 40 pages because I consistently got distracted by the most beautiful road trip scenery. I cant recall the last times I have been on a couple-hour long road trip amidst the transitional period of autumn and winter.

We drove on roads surrounded by woods and forests. Signs of late-autumn painted the trees. Yellow and orange — nearly red leaves floated pass the window as we also passed lush green fields. Some of the fields had a few horses grazing, others had cows.

The reunion was beautiful and consisted of slices of Butter Pecan cake, cups of sweet tea, laughter, smiles, Christmas lights, and opening presents. The small restaurant was filled with about forty people: aunties, cousins, uncles, and friends of the family.

After eating and spending hours with my family, we drove to Aunt B’s house. Arriving at Aunt B’s house was like seeing it for the first time was an experience. I noticed her home had walls full of framed photos from everyone in the family. Her home was, in a sense, a museum. Along with the plethora of couches, beds, and ironing boards, old TVs, sewn quilts, and chairs, were photos and photos of everyone (living and dead) in the family.

Aunt B is one of the only other librarians in the family. “Aunt B is an archivist,” I tell my mom later on later on that night.

Maybe that’s the word to describe myself too.

An archivist: a librarian, writer, vlogger, a woman with a journal.

photos from Yulani's iPhone SE (Dec. 10, 2023)

December 10, 2023 / 11:02 am / Hemphill, Texas

I sit outside on a rickety wooden table, the sun shining down on me, writing this entry.

Sleeping at Aunt B’s house was peaceful. Throughout the night, the rustling of leaves, breezes of wind, low chatter between sisters, and sounds of wildlife (horses shaking their manes, deers wandering around in the woods, and crows crooning sleepily) lulled me to sleep.

I woke up excited for the prospect of homemade biscuits and anticipating the next few pages of my current read. Whenever we used to stay at Aunt B’s house, she would make us biscuits. Her biscuits are my favorite.

I woke up to sunlight streaming into the room. My hair was wrapped into a hair scarf. And I was second-to-last to wake up out of the cousins. The smell of bacon and fresh baked bread flowed throughout the entirety of the house.

My cousins and I got dressed and brushed my teeth with my stomach growling. “Breakfasts ready!” Mema called, and me and my cousins shot out the bathroom and down the hallway to the dining room.

Platters and bowls of grits, bacon, sausage, eggs, biscuits, butter, and syrup were laid out on the table. We got a plate and served ourselves. My plate consisted of a sample of everything. But I ended up giving my cousin my bacon and making myself two mosausage biscuits.

The small Chihuahua named Parker (whom I befriended last night) barked up at my mom. “Hey! Why’re you barking?!” I asked him, a smile in my voice. Parker, completely distracted, stopped barking and started sniffing my feet from under my chair.

After eating the breakfast Mema and Aunt B made, my cousins and I helped my mom clean the kitchen. Then my cousins and I spent an hour or two outside playing ball, reading books, and chasing butterflies.

The whole time, I kept repeating “oh my god, it’s so beautiful out here”. At home, the trees were struggling to turn orange still. Here the trees were effortlessly colorful and the leaves were falling. And Aunt B had horses. The horses were grazing and the blue sky contrasted beautifully with the orange and green Earth. The scene was practically out of a storybook.

I dragged my suitcase to the room and slung it into the trunk of the car minutes before exploring my other Aunt and Uncle’s trailers near by.